MHA Rewrite: Plus Ultra

All Might did not rise slowly. He appeared. Crime rates dropped the moment he entered the field. Villains retreated. Entire syndicates dissolved. Just knowing he existed was enough. That’s what a Symbol of Peace looks like. And I think… he expects me to become one too. Sand sprays behind Izuku’s heels as he runs. The rope around his waist cuts into his hips. Behind him, a thick rubber tire drags through the beach, carving an ugly trail across the sand. His lungs burn. His ribs still ache when he breathes too deep. Fifty kilometers. He tastes salt. Sweat drips into his eyes. On a nearby bench, Toshinori Yagi sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, thin frame swallowed by oversized clothes. A stopwatch dangles loosely from his fingers. “C’mon, kid!” he calls out casually. “You’ve only done twenty kilometers! Twenty more to go!” Only. Izuku nearly chokes. His legs tremble but don’t stop. The tire resists every step. Sand shifts underfoot. The ocean wind pushes against him like it’s personally offended. All Might checks the time. “Your stride’s collapsing! Shorten it! Engage your core!” Izuku adjusts mid-run, teeth gritted. He doesn’t answer. He can’t waste oxygen. All Might leans back slightly. Izuku’s breath comes in sharp pulls as the tire drags stubbornly behind him. As soon as I got out of the hospital, he started. No ceremony. No inspirational speech. Just, “We begin tomorrow.” Tomorrow turned into this. Mornings: distance runs with resistance. Sand. Tires. Weighted vests once my ribs healed. Afternoons: strength training. Deadlifts. Squats. Core stabilization until my muscles shook so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Evenings: sparring drills. Reaction training. Combat fundamentals refined until my movements were automatic. And in between? Beach cleanup. Because apparently lifting refrigerators and dragging rusted appliances counts as “functional strength.” The first day he brought me here, I thought he was joking. Dagobah Beach stretches in front of them, buried under decades of neglect. Rusted cars. Broken televisions. Tangled metal frames. Entire appliances half-sunk into sand. Izuku just stares. “…You want me to clean this?” All Might, hands on his hips in his gaunt form, nods once. “All of it.” Izuku blinks. “All of it?” “Yep.” “…Why?” All Might gestures vaguely toward the mountain of debris. “Because it’s heavy.” Izuku waits for more. “That’s it?” All Might sighs like this is obvious. “Kid, you think villains attack you in neat, evenly distributed weights?” He walks toward a refrigerator tipped on its side and taps it with his shoe. “Real combat isn’t a gym. It’s unstable ground. Awkward angles. Dead weight.” He looks back at Izuku. “You don’t just need muscle. You need balance. Grip strength. Core stability. Endurance under irregular load.” A pause. “And because you’re not just building strength.” His eyes narrow slightly. “You’re building durability.” Izuku looks at the trash pile again. “…That still doesn’t explain why it has to be the entire beach.” All Might grins, a little too pleased with himself. “Well! Think about how happy the coastal heroes will be that we’re doing their job for them.” Izuku blinks. “I’m fairly certain they’re busy doing important work at sea. You know, their actual job…?” All Might snickers. “Yeah, because there are sooo many villains lurking in the ocean...” Izuku stares at him. “…There are maritime smuggling rings.” A pause. “And sea-based rescue operations.” Another pause. “And don’t you personally know the hero Selkie?” All Might coughs lightly. “Ah. Yeah. Good guy…” Izuku shakes his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe you just insulted an entire hero specialization… They all look up to you, you realize that, right?”  All Might immediately straightens, pointing sharply at a half-buried refrigerator. “Lift that fridge.” Izuku squints at him. “That’s not a rebuttal.” “Hey.” All Might clicks his fingers. “The fridge. Lift. I don’t want no sass coming from my pupil.” Izuku exhales and steps toward it, crouching properly this time. He grips the sides. Lifts. The sand shifts under his feet. The weight bites into his forearms. All Might hums approvingly. “Oh. And put these on.” All Might equips Izuku with a set of weighted bands for his wrists and ankles. The added pull is immediate. Subtle. Heavy. “For the duration of this training regimen,” All Might says casually, brushing sand off his hands, “you will wear those.” Izuku flexes experimentally. His limbs feel slower. He looks up at All Might. “Even at home?” All Might nods once. “Even at home.” Izuku nods, going back to lifting the fridge. All Might raises a brow and nods once in approval.  Scene changes. The tire drags behind Izuku. The ocean wind roars in his ears. I’ve gotten to know my idol— He corrects himself internally. —my mentor. A little. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t talk much about himself. “He” being Toshinori Yagi. Not All Might. That name feels different in my head. Smaller. Human. Just like me.   I tried researching him. Nothing. No childhood records. No early interviews. No academy history that makes sense. All Might appears in the public eye fully formed. Already strong. Already smiling. Like he just… manifested. Which is funny. Because the first thing I learned about Toshinori-san is that he’s terrible at hiding how tired he is. The rope jerks at his waist again. Izuku stumbles but recovers. He coughs constantly. He swears more than he smiles. He drinks too much coffee. And when he thinks I’m not looking— He stares at the horizon like he’s calculating how long he has left. Izuku inhales sharply, forcing his pace steady. He doesn’t tell me stories about his youth. He doesn’t talk about his predecessor. He doesn’t talk about the villain who injured him. He only talks about form. “Straighten your spine.” “Breathe through the strain.” “Again.” And trust me… I’ve tried to get him to talk. Izuku lowers himself into another push-up, arms already shaking. Toshinori sits cross-legged on his back. Gaunt form. Still heavier than he looks. “Down.” Izuku inhales sand. “Up.” His elbows lock out. “So,” Izuku starts, voice tight, “where are you from?” “No.” He drops again. “Tokyo?” “No.” “Osaka?” “No.” “Are you even from Japan?” “No.” Down. “How old are you?” “No.” “That’s not how age works.” “No.” Izuku strains upward again, sweat dripping from his chin. “Where do you live?” “No.” “Do you even have a house?” “No.” Izuku’s arms buckle. He collapses face-first into the sand. “Oof—!” Scene change. The tire drags stubbornly behind him, sand spraying up against his calves with every step. Mom thinks Toshinori-san is a trainer from my gym. Some retired athlete who took pity on me and decided to whip me into shape for free. She doesn’t know he’s All Might. She doesn’t know about One For All. She doesn’t know I’m training to inherit the most ridiculous power in the world. The rope jerks at his waist. He stumbles, recovers, keeps moving. It’s… probably for the best. It’s not all bad. Toshinori-san feeds me. A lot. Steam rises from two oversized bowls of ramen. Izuku leans forward, eating faster than he means to. Toshinori watches him with quiet satisfaction before digging in himself. They talk between mouthfuls. Toshinori laughs at something Izuku says, clapping a thin hand against his shoulder. Izuku nearly chokes, laughing too. I get to see the different sides of Toshinori-san. A convenience store. Toshinori is arguing with the cashier. His hands move sharply as he explains something. The clerk responds flatly. Izuku stands between them, bowing repeatedly, trying to smooth things over. Toshinori keeps talking. The clerk keeps refusing. Eventually, Izuku pays for whatever the issue was. Outside, Toshinori continues muttering while Izuku exhales into his hands. I guess being the Symbol of Peace all the time weighs you down… He must be glad for the anonymity. A crowded sidewalk in the afternoon. Izuku carries groceries. Toshinori walks beside him, hands in his pockets. Two women pass them by. Toshinori notices. His posture changes. Shoulders straighten. He smooths back his hair (which immediately bounces back into place) and steps slightly ahead of Izuku. He says something to them. They pause. Toshinori continues speaking — smiling, gesturing lightly, clearly trying to charm them. He laughs once at his own comment. The women respond politely, nodding. One glances at Izuku briefly, uncertain. Toshinori keeps talking. Their smiles grow thinner. Izuku looks embarrassed for Toshinori’s sake. And sometimes, the training wasn’t planned… A little girl stands near a bench, crying into a stuffed rabbit. Toshinori stops immediately and crouches in front of her. His posture lowers. His movements soften. He speaks gently, trying to reassure her. The girl looks up. Her crying falters. She stares at his gaunt face. Then she screams. Louder than before. A police officer on a bicycle swivels toward the noise. Toshinori and Izuku run like two idiots. The officer pedals hard after them, baton raised, whistle on his lips. Groceries jostle wildly. The whistle shrieks behind them. They pass by an alley. All Might grabs Izuku into it.  Smoke erupts. The officer skids to a stop at the entrance and peers inside. All Might stands there instead, towering and radiant, Izuku tucked under one massive arm like a captured villain. Izuku exaggerates a defeated slump. All Might flashes a confident thumbs up. The officer beams. Returns the gesture. Cycles away. All Might holds the pose for two seconds longer than necessary. Then they both exhale in relief. Steam bursts again. Toshinori reappears, instantly coughing up blood. Izuku panics. But… at the end of the day— Same sidewalk. A tree. A kitten stuck halfway up a branch. Toshinori stops. A small gesture. Izuku crouches. He climbs up, steadying himself against the trunk. Reaches. Slow. Careful. He frees the kitten and lowers it— The moment it touches the ground, it hisses. Claws flash. A sharp scratch across his hand. The kitten bolts. Gone. Toshinori pauses, looking at the thin red lines on his skin. Then he glances at Izuku. A small, sheepish smile. He scratches the back of his head. And walks on, hands in pockets. Izuku watches him for a moment. His eyes catch the light—bright, steady. A small smile forms, quiet but certain. …He’s still All Might. Day 287. The tire doesn’t fight him anymore. Or maybe it does. He just doesn’t notice it the same way. The beach looks different now. Where there used to be a mountain of rusted metal and broken appliances, there’s open sand. The pile beside him is organized. Sorted. Ready for disposal. Izuku plants his feet in the sand and lifts the last refrigerator upright. It doesn’t wobble this time. He drags it across the cleared stretch of beach and sets it down with a controlled exhale. The wind feels different without the debris blocking it. Behind him, Toshinori watches from the bench. He doesn’t say much these days. He just nods once. Izuku wipes the sand from his palms, brushing it off against his shorts. His shoulders ache in that dull, familiar way that means the work is done. He walks over. Toshinori tosses him a water bottle without looking. Izuku catches it easily this time. He drops onto the bench beside him, sand crunching underfoot. “Well.” He unscrews the cap slowly. “I did it…” He takes a long drink. The water tastes warm. It doesn’t matter. In front of them, the beach stretches wide and clear. No mountains of rusted junk. No half-buried appliances. Just sand and wind and open space. Toshinori looks out at it. “You certainly did.” Toshinori glances at him. Not evaluating. Not measuring. Just… satisfied. Izuku exhales after drinking the water. He lowers the bottle and lifts one wrist slightly. “Can I take these off now?” Toshinori doesn’t look at him. “Sure.” Izuku unfastens the weighted bands from his wrists first. The straps fall into his palm with a dull weight he’s grown used to. Then his ankles. He sets them down beside the bench. He stands. The first step feels wrong. Too light. He shifts his weight forward experimentally. The sand doesn’t resist him the same way. His stride lengthens without effort. He takes another step. Then another. He exhales. His body moves before he tells it to. He jogs a short distance down the cleared stretch of beach. No drag. No pull at his hips. No artificial weight grinding into bone. Just movement. He stops. Turns. The beach looks wider than it did this morning. Toshinori watches quietly. No stopwatch. No correction. Just watching. Izuku jogs back to Toshinori. “This feels weird.” “Hm.” Without warning, Toshinori grabs the waistband of Izuku’s training shorts and snaps it down.  Izuku yelps and slaps his hands away, pulling up his pants, face flushed with embarrassment and shock. “What are you doing?!”  Toshinori smirks. “Tryna see the results.”  “That is not how you do that! At least start with my shirt or something! Geez, you really want to get arrested, huh?!”  Izuku flushes and glances around the beach. A couple of distant joggers. A dog walker. He sighs.  “Just do it quickly…”  He pulls off his shirt and pants, leaving only his underwear. He’s ripped. Toshinori studies him properly this time. No jokes. No smirk. “…Good.” He looks at Izuku with sharp eyes. “You’re ready.”  Izuku opens his mouth but no words come out. He puts back on his clothes. He looks nervous. Excited? He fidgets.  “Okay…” He swallows. “So what now? How do you transfer your Quirk?”  Toshinori scratches the back of his head. “Well.” He looks almost sheepish. “It’s not particularly glamorous.” Izuku stiffens. Toshinori leans forward.  “I need you to ingest my DNA.” A pause. “…You really do want to get arrested.”  Toshinori rolls his eyes. He reaches up and grips a strand of his own hair. He holds it out between two fingers. “One strand is enough.”  Izuku blinks. “Okay, so you’re telling me anybody could have inherited your Quirk if they had just ingested a single strand of your hair?”  Toshinori doesn’t answer. Izuku continues, brain already spiraling. “So if you’re fighting a villain and they accidentally inhale your—” “Kid.”  Izuku pauses.  “Just eat the damn hair.”  Silence. Izuku looks at the strand again. “…You’re not even going to reassure me?” Toshinori stares at him flatly. “It only transfers if I intend for it to.” Izuku hums. “And… if I swallow this hair… you can’t become All Might anymore?” Toshinori pauses. For the first time since he plucked the strand, he doesn’t look amused. “It doesn’t work like a light switch,” he says calmly. “One For All doesn’t disappear from me the moment you ingest it.” He lowers his hand slightly. “It transfers over time. As you grow stronger, it grows within you.” Izuku watches him carefully. “And you?” Toshinori gives a small shrug. “I’ll still have what remains.” Not a lie. Not the full truth. Izuku’s fingers curl slightly. “And when it’s fully transferred?” A quiet breath. Toshinori smiles — not the booming grin. The smaller one. “Then my time’s up.” The wind moves across the empty beach. No theatrics. Just inevitability.  “You… die?” The question hangs there, raw and unfiltered. Toshinori snorts. “Relax.” He flicks the strand of hair lightly between his fingers. “I’m not a magical battery that explodes when it runs out.” Izuku doesn’t look relieved. Toshinori’s expression softens just a fraction. “One For All is a stockpiled power. I’ll still have embers left. Enough to function. Just not enough to keep playing hero.” A pause. “I was never meant to hold it forever.” The wind moves across the cleared sand. Izuku studies him. “And you’re okay with that?” Toshinori looks out at the horizon. “I already had my turn.” A small, almost amused breath. “Besides, I’m getting tired.” He looks back at Izuku. “You think I enjoy dramatic rooftop entrances at my age?” “I don’t even know how old you are.” Toshinori grins. “Exactly.” That earns the faintest twitch from Izuku. The strand of hair is still held out between them. “Now,” Toshinori says, tone steady again, “don’t make this more sentimental than it needs to be.” Izuku slowly takes the strand. He holds it between his fingers, inspecting it like it might suddenly sprout lightning. “…Can I eat this with water?” Toshinori exhales through his nose. Izuku straightens quickly. “Alright, alright.” The strand rests in his palm. This is it. The moment everything changes. The moment he’s trained for. The moment he’s wanted since he was four years old. He brings it to his mouth. There’s no flash of light. No tremor in the sky. No swelling music. Just a boy on a quiet beach, swallowing a single strand of hair. Izuku swallows. He waits.  “…Did it work?” Toshinori crosses his arms. “Now we wait.” Izuku smacks his lips. “…Ugh. Salty.” Toshinori squints at him. Izuku sticks out his tongue slightly like that will undo what just happened.  “…I trained nine months for this.” Toshinori snorts once. Then his expression shifts — subtle, but real. “Now… we wait.” The wind moves across the cleared beach again. Izuku swallows again, like that might trigger something. “…Okay, but if we’re waiting for me to suddenly writhe around in pain, feeling like my insides are burning and my muscles are ripping apart, I’d like to know beforehand.” Toshinori bursts into laughter. “You’re dramatic, kid.”  Toshinori waves a hand dismissively. “One For All doesn’t explode inside you the moment you ingest it. It settles. It acclimates.” He gestures vaguely toward Izuku’s chest. “Think of it like… planting a seed. It will take time. Your body has to accept it. Strengthen around it.” A pause. “That’s why we trained.” Izuku flexes his hand experimentally. “So I won’t feel anything?” “Not yet.” Another beat. “And when you do try to use it…” Toshinori’s eyes sharpen slightly. “That’s when it becomes your problem.” “So when can I test it out?” Izuku asks quickly. “And start learning control? We don’t have much time before the entrance exam, right?” “Right,” Toshinori replies. A beat. “You’ll test it there.” Izuku blinks. “What.” Toshinori folds his arms. “The U.A. entrance exam is a practical combat assessment. Real targets. Real pressure.” Izuku stares at him. “You want my first attempt at using a stockpiled superpower to be during a live exam?” “Yes.” “That is objectively insane.” Toshinori shrugs. “Heroes don’t get controlled environments.” Izuku gestures vaguely at the empty beach. “We literally created a controlled environment.” “And you survived it.” A pause. “Now you prove you can survive something unpredictable.” Izuku looks down at his hands again. “So I just… guess?” Toshinori’s expression sharpens. “You observe. You calculate. You adjust.” A beat. “You’re good at that.” Izuku exhales slowly. He turns away from Toshinori and looks out at the horizon. The sun is sinking, melting into the sea in streaks of orange and gold. The cleared stretch of beach glows faintly in the dying light. Toshinori watches him. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice casual but steady. “You’ll do fine.” Izuku snorts faintly. “Sure.” A beat. “I’m not really nervous about that, though.” Toshinori raises a brow. “Oh?” Izuku rubs the back of his neck, still staring at the water. “It’s just…” He exhales. “I’m going to U.A. The actual U.A. Not the Support Course. Not General Studies.” He huffs a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “The Hero Course.” The wind moves between them. “I never thought I’d step foot there.” Toshinori studies him carefully. “Got any doubts?” Izuku is quiet for a moment. “Doubts…?” He considers it. Then he turns back, meeting Toshinori’s eyes. There’s no arrogance in it. Just clarity. “No. Not really.” A small breath. “I stopped doubting whether I could be a hero the day I ran into that sludge.” He doesn’t smile. “I just need to prove I can become a better one.” Toshinori’s smile sharpens as he lets out a quiet chuckle. Yeah, Master… I picked a real good one to carry on your legacy… He stands. Izuku keeps his eyes on the horizon as Toshinori steps beside him. The sun dips lower, bleeding into the sea. A firm pat on his back. “C’mon, kid. Yakiniku’s on me.” Toshinori starts walking, hands sliding into his pockets. “Toshinori-san.” He pauses and looks back. Izuku meets his eyes evenly. “Thank you. For believing in me.” No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just fact. Toshinori blinks once, caught off guard. No, kid… It’s you who I should be thanking… Then he nods. “Sure, kid.” He turns and keeps walking. Izuku looks at the horizon one last time before following. Side by side, they head toward the city lights. Toward U.A. Toward the future.